Interior Battle
by Barbara Barnett
Summary: Fill in the blanks on the season 4 finale


_Interior battle_

By Barbara Barnett VA--no romance

Spoilers: Gethsemene, Paper Clip

Summary: A missing scene toward the end of Gethsemene. What really happened

in Mulder's apartement after he left Scully in the warehouse.

Warning--nothing is resolved here...just author's own speculation.

Mulder considered Michael Kritschgau as he sat listlessly on his couch.

Considered the man, what he had revealed--and how, so coincidentally, he had

ventured into his and Scully's lives; and how he had irrevocably changed

them. The man had said nothing to him that he hadn't already considered at

least once or twice before. Mulder was a believer, but had the ingrained

skepticism of a researcher, an investigator. What had created the critical

mass, created this latest crisis of conscience for Mulder, who had lived his

life in constant interior battle: the believer and the investigator; the

rational man and the man of intuititve leaps?

Mulder's mind flashed images before him, each clear. It made no sense.

Kritchgau had met Scully coincidentally. He had not sought her out. He'd

nearly broken her neck, flinging her down the concrete back stairs of the

laboratory as he escaped with the stolen ice core samples...The ice core

samples. Why steal them? What was in them? Proof that the being the ice

surrounded was a fake? Mulder examined the semi-automatic on the coffee

table before him. Coward.

Scully had tracked Kritchgau down, and only then...after he attacked her,

stole the ice cores. Then. Then...he had "revealed" to her the "facts" of

the matter. The lie that had been Mulder's life, according to Kritchgau.

Why now? He'd asked Kritchgau in all sincerity. Why come to them now,

after how many years?

Kritchgau's answer...and then Mulder knew. Convinced beyond a shadow of a

doubt. Kritchgau was lying. "Because my son is dying." Was in the Gulf

War. A sad story. And, yes, Mulder suspected, strongly, in fact, that

certain issues relevant to the Gulf war were related to the overall grand

plan of the consortium. Mulder had, several times, speculated that the grand

scheme had something to do with creating a super soldier capable of

withstanding the effects of biological and chemical weapons. Weapons that

may have, in fact, been used by Sadam in the Gulf War... may, in fact, be

responsible for Kritchgau's son's illness...that is, if, in fact, Kritchgau

even had a son.

No, sudden anxiety over a dying son was certainly NOT the reason. Kritchgau

had not sought them out. Hadn't Scullly seen that immediately? But Scully

was seeing only what she wanted to see. Hear facts that supported her own

position and fears.

No, Kritchgau came to them because he'd been caught red handed. Revealed.

And he was trying to save his own ass. Who the Hell did he work for?

Agitprop. DOD. Agitation propoganda. At least that made sense. The guy

was a professional liar. But what about Scully? Oh Scully. " When did you

stop having any faith in me at all," He wondered aloud in despair?

"They gave me this cancer to make you believe." There had been tears in her

eyes. Unbearable tears. The words had been said. And three years of blame

hurled at him as a 100 mile-an-hour fast ball. Cruel? Yes. It wasn't like

Scully to attack a downed opponent. And after the blow administered by

Kritchgau, before he'd had the chance to analyze it...to put facts behind his

faith that Kritchgau was a liar, she struck him a direct blow. And she was

right, at least partially. Above everything else she was right about his

guilt in her illness. But this was nothing new. Kritchgau's "news" wasn't

news, it was just newly spoken, spoken in a new and surreal context.

Hadn't Mulder, long ago, accepted blame for Scully's abduction, ultimately

for her cancer? "What if I knew but didn't tell her about the consequences,"

he'd asked Skinner after she'd been returned? "Then you're as guilty as

Cancerman." And so it was. And so he'd lived with the guilt and the painful

knowledge. His fault for asking her to play with fire.

But what Kritchgau had told her, and what she now apparently believed, was

that ... NO! To make him believe...WHAT? In the existence of

extraterrestrials? He already believed that. He only sought hard evidence.

Evidence still elusive after many, many years. But Scully had said to him

that Kritchgau's words on the matter were what ultimately made her believe

his story. Believe in this professional liar, and disconnect from Mulder.

No, no. That's not entirely accurate, he thought. Scully had already

disconnected from him, months earlier. He glanced at the phone. The message

light was blinking on his machine. When had the phone rung?

He breathed a ragged breath, a deep shaky sigh, rubbing the heels of his

hands into his eyes, which stung with remorse, pain, hurt and anger. He hit

the playback button. "Mulder?" It was Scully. "Mulder pick up. Please. I

need to know you're alright. I know how what happened tonight...How you

must feel right now. Please..."

Mulder closed his eyes slowly. Was he so transparently fragile? He picked

up the phone, intending to dial her number. What would he say to her? He'd

never convince her. Not now. Not anymore. She no longer believed in him,

in his sanity, his quest, his skill. Nothing. There was nothing to say. It

was all said and there was no more. She believed that his life was a lie.

And, ultimately, that belief came to her with ease. And that was what hurt,

had so deeply wounded him now.

No, there was nothing left to say. His tears finally fell, mourning his

lonliness...the loss of life, oh God, he cried audibly gazing at the ceiling.

The loss of life. How many had died? Killed by the consortium. Why? To

make him believe? To cover a bigger lie...well yes, there was that, too. Oh

yes, he knew...he understood that there was a bigger lie...a horrific plan.

And he knew that that...that was the cause of Scully's cancer. The real

cause. Her, the Allentown women, and how many others? How many had his own

father been responsible for? What had it said in the Bible...the sins of the

fathers pass down for three generations...Oh, God, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry

Scully. I'm sorry Samantha. I'm so sorry.

And since he'd known of his father's own culpability in the matter, he made

his own personal quest one of righting the terrible wrongs of his father and

his cronies. "Didn't you know that Scully? Didn't you understand that it

stopped being about little green men long ago, long ago, when my innocence

died in an abandoned mine, in a hall of a million files and tissue samples.

Died, covered in the blood of innocents, victims left disfigured or

vanished, mutated or cloned." The tears flowed unabated, his eyes blurred,

stinging.

Mulder's semi-automatic stared at him. "Pick me up. You know what's the

honorable thing to do," it called out to him. Taunted him, laughed at him.

"I can't. I can't abandon Scully. Not now."

"You fool, romantic fool. She abandoned you, remember? She neither wants or

needs your help. Remeber? She's fine. Always fine. Much better than

you, I'd venture."

"It's the coward's way out."

"Well?"

The conflict waged for some time, minutes or hours, Mulder could not be

certain. It had become a battle of wills. His and his weapon's. Several

times Mulder nearly removed the clip to lock it away, but that would have

been the cheater's way out, cried the referee from yet another part of his

brain. And this, the battle for control of mind, soul, heart had to be won of

determination, not convenience. The victory needed to be clear and certain.

Rational mind over dispirited heart; bravery of spirit over withered soul.

The clip remained in place.

A voice from elsewhere: "The most terrifying nightmare would be if some

extraterrestrial life form was to contact us. It would create panic of the

worst kind..." Something familiar about those words. Mulder shook the

cowbwebs from his head, turning toward the TV. It had been set on the

Discovery Channel, which was replaying a symposium on extraterrestrial life.

Mulder had programmed the VCR to tape it. Cruel irony of ironies on this

very night. Ashley Montague's words just then. Words spoken in 1972. He

stared at the TV momentarily. His head clearing. Suddenly something was so

clear. Crystal. Something never before considered. He stopped the

recorder from taping and rewound a few feet, hitting the play button. There.

There it was.

A click as Mulder's door was opened, almost soundlessly. The soft pop of a

silenced weapon. Mulder turned toward the door at the pop. Blackness

overcame him before he could react.

The next morning

"Thank you for coming Agent Scully. Is it him?" The detective sergent

lifted the sheet to reveal an oblitterated face attached to...

"Yes, it's him."

Later that morning:

"Agent Mulder died last night of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound to

the head."


End file.
